


Placebo Effect

by dollalpaca



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race (US) RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, MY FIRST COMMISSION YALL, Paid Commission, Sick Character, Sick Fic, aka they're men but i use their drag names, i tried my best and i hope this is okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollalpaca/pseuds/dollalpaca
Summary: “Pretty sure boredom isn’t part of the symptoms,” he says, amused. Monique groans on the other side of the line.“Of course it isn’t, you dumbass.” There’s a small pause before he continues, “I just—I want someone to hang out with to not feel so miserable, y’know,” he admits in a whisper, and really, it shouldn’t make Monét’s heart speed up, but it does.Or, Monique is sick and asks Monét to take care of him.
Relationships: Monét X Change/Monique Heart
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Placebo Effect

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is a paid commission I did for derpy-avocado. I did my best to live up to her wishes for this fic, and I hope you all like it too! :D

_Moonique: are u free today?_

Monét barely has time to read the text when Bob is pushing him to keep on walking, albeit rather harshly, otherwise they’ll miss the greenlight. He just huffs, haphazardly putting it in his back pocket and adjusting his gym bag, pinching Bob’s arms once they’re on the other side of the street.

“If you wanted to push me in front of the cars, you should’ve just done that,” he jokingly says, and Bob just rolls his eyes.

“I don’t need you as a ghost tugging on my cold feet for the rest of my life, thank you very much,” Bob deadpans, but a chuckle escapes him. Monét just snorts, turning around the corner of the street, heading for their nearest Starbucks.

Summer is on its last stage, leaving space for autumn’s chilly winds and brown leaves. But the temperatures have yet to drop, and Monét isn’t sure why he allows Bob to drag him to the gym on hot days like these—best friend privileges, he supposes.

Between small talk he forgets about Monique’s text, until they get to Starbucks and the line is larger than they anticipated. He turns to Bob to go on with their conversation when he feels his phone buzz, before they hear a _moo_. Bob cocks a brow in his direction, but Monét is more than used to the ridiculous ringtone Monique set up for himself.

“Mo?”

“‘Nét.” His voice sounds solemn—and nasal. “You ignored my texts, bitch. I’m _dying_ and you ignored me,” he says, as dramatic as Monét knows him to be, and he can’t help to laugh.

“Okay, first, I saw your first text while I was walking, I _was_ going to answer. Second, I’m pretty sure you’re not _actually_ dying.” He hears a whine on the other side of the line and gives a tiny smile, accompanied by a chuckle. Bob purses his lips as if he were to say something, but his mouth stays shut.

“Excuses, excuses.” He can almost see Monique dismissing what he said with a wave of his hand. “I’m sick, think I got a cold or somethin’. ‘M burnin’ up, my nose’s runny, my throat’s sore—and I’m bored outta my mind,” he sighs deeply, to really sell his acting.

Monét cocks a brow, “Pretty sure boredom isn’t part of the symptoms,” he says, amused. Monique groans on the other side of the line.

“Of course it isn’t, you dumbass.” There’s a small pause before he continues, “I just—I want someone to hang out with to not feel so miserable, y’know,” he admits in a whisper, and really, it shouldn’t make Monét’s heart speed up, but it does.

He purses his lips, glancing towards Bob, who seems much more preoccupied with his own phone. He knows they’re supposed to film a video and their podcast, amongst other things—but a day off can’t hurt, can it?

“Alright, I’ll come by. I’m at Starbucks, you want anything?” He asks, though he knows Monique’s usual order by heart. And sure enough, Monique recites it back to him. “I’ll be there in ten, maybe. The door’s locked?”

“I’ll unlock it now,” Monique says simply, and Monét hears some fumbling in the background. “Thanks, Nét,” he mumbles with earnest, making Monét smile lopsidedly.

“Anytime,” he whispers back before hanging up, and when he puts away his phone and goes to meet Bob’s gaze, there’s a questioning glare piercing right through him. “What?”

Bob just stares at him for a solid second before speaking, “It was Monique, wasn’t it? You got _that_ look on your face, you know the one. No wonder you’re abandoning me that easy.” He goes straight to the point, with a shit eating grin. Monét just cocks a brow, trying to not look flustered.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he says, but he _knows_ —it’s just he’d rather not think about it now, not when he’s on his way to see him.

Bob gives him sneaky glances and teases him a fair share until he leaves, and all Monét can do is pretend he doesn’t hear him.

*

Monét arrives to Monique’s apartment in the blink of an eye, with his stupidly complicated order, and unceremoniously lets himself in.

Immediately, he’s greeted by the sound of SZA’s latest song blasting from Monique’s room, and he smiles a little before he makes a beeline for it. The door is wide open, and right away he can see Monique bundled in a bunch of blankets, his eyes are closed, peeking out from under the covers, and he looks so peaceful he’d hate to ruin the moment.

But then again, his coffee is getting cold, and he knows Monique hates cold coffee.

“Wow, you really look like shit,” he jokingly says, making Monique’s eyes snap open. He kicks off the blanket covering him and makes the motion to stand up from bed, but Monét takes a long stride and makes him settle back down.

“Thanks for coming,” he beams, turning the music just a notch down. He makes space in the bed for Monét, and he gladly settles by his side, and there’s something comforting by the familiarity of the motion. “D’you get my order right?”

“A venti Americano blonde espresso with caramel syrup and almond milk, right?” He asks, knowing the answer, and pride swells in his chest when Monique squeals in excitement, making grabby hands at the drink.

Monét’s own drink is already half empty, so he nibbles on it silently while Monique is cuddled up by his side, telling him about this one gig where he did shots with the host, how he felt sick over the course of the next days, pinning the blame on the host. Monét just listens, amused, unable to wipe the grin off his face whenever he glances to Monique out of the corner of his eye and sees him talking with his hand and making gestures, to really tell a compelling story.

They stay like that for what feels like forever, talking aimlessly about everything and anything, listening to SZA’s second album, and letting a comfortable silence fall when there’s nothing to say, just sipping on their drinks until the last drop. Monét leaves for a moment to use the bathroom, and Monique lets out a long breath.

He’s not sure why his first instinct upon realizing he’s sick was to call Monét instead of seeing a doctor, but he can’t deny his company brings him a sort of peace he only feels when he’s with him. And Monique isn’t stupid, he knows what it is and why he feels like that, but he’d rather protect their friendship a little longer.

He gets up to get a glass of water while Monét is still busy in the bathroom, and he aimlessly stands in the middle of the kitchen, still wrapped up in his comfy blankets, when he hears it— _the ice cream truck tune_.

Monique smiles widely, peeking over at the door of the bathroom. He knows he’s not supposed to go out like that and Monét will chastise him, but Monét can forgive him once he comes back with ice cream for the two. Right?

*

“Do you have any idea of the heart attack you almost gave me?” Monét exclaims, once he finds Monique sitting on the sidewalk, melting ice creams on each hand and a smug smile, still wrapped up in blankets.

“In my defense, you left me unsupervised, and I bought you an ice cream too!” Monique holds his hand out, offering him the sweet, and Monét glares at him, begrudgingly accepting it and kneeling down next to him.

“Girl, you’re a grown ass adult, I left you for one minute to use the bathroom and you disappear!”

“One minute? Seemed like an eternity to me,” Monique says nonchalantly, carelessly licking the ice cream. His tone is jokey, but there’s some truth to his words.

If he sees Monét blush before he looks away and scoops him up in his arms, Monique doesn’t say anything. Monét chastises him on their way back, the ice cream melting before he can finish it, and Monique would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy their proximity.

Monét vows to not let him out of his sight while he’s there, and proposes they watch something on Netflix, and it totally isn’t Monique’s idea to cover Monét with his own blankets to have him closer. They have a mixed marathon of _SpongeBob_ and _Avatar_ when they can’t settle on just one, and if Monique feels his heart skip when Monét insists he rests his head on his chest, he’ll never admit it.

“Y’know, I think it was always obvious Katara would end up with Aang,” Monét comments out of nowhere, and Monique cocks a brow, silently prompting him to go on. “I mean, just look at the way he looks at her. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t pick up on it if someone looked you that way,” he muses mysteriously, and Monique has to agree.

“Well, yeah, but why are you—” He glances up to meet Monét’s gaze, and the words die in his throat.

It seems planned, the way Monét is looking at him while the show plays on the background, mimicking Aang’s lovey-dovey gaze to Katara. It sends chills right down his spine.

He’s looking at his lips, and it makes him wonder who’ll be the one to make the move. In the end, Monique isn’t thinking straight, blame it on the way her brain shut downs when he’s with Monét or the fever, but the next thing he knows is that he stops holding back and clashes his lips with Monét’s.

It feels childish to say a canyon of butterflies exploded on his stomach, but that’s what happens.

“I think that made me feel better,” Monique confesses sheepishly, once they pull apart, and Monét just chuckles, pulling him closer.

“Oh, yeah? I’m more than glad to be your placebo effect,” he says, “You still need to see a doctor, though.”

Monique rolls his eyes, biting back a smile. “Don’t ruin the moment, bitch.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like a commission, all the info is on [my tumblr pinned post!](https://dollalpaca.tumblr.com/post/637784999231389696/writing-commissions-open) 💕


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